Cat Major, Cat Minor, Suppressing all the Capital

That painting with its winged penises searching for more macaroni, butter, and lumps of gum. 

They've come around, they've been around all night. They're here right now thinking of doing it over and over again, just like its some funny repetition on the round sofa out there. Gah, I can hear 'em thinking it. I don't need it. There's no value to it. We can't use the pictures, damn music's too loud. Success is a line in here. It's not from somewhere else and it won't succeed without a market to happen to it. There's too much wax and too much wax as the song goes.  What we need is to keep making these markets happen. They need to be everywhere just like candlesticks and crosses.
Giuseppe knows us, we're his couple of reckless canaries in this poorly lit hole. He knows us as the cats that know the mysterious language of all the other cats. I've told him before, they're easy. They're like open books in a burning library, don't get confused and don't get left behind.
But Giuseppe's timid as a school bus, he's all over the place after six. He's left again and then he's right until he wobbles off. It's an eccentric path but he holds it down to the ground. Guiseppe's broke or fumbling. He's either in argent or getaway black but's he's looking carefree as a clerk tonight. He's chatty in his tight wood shoes. What's that word, He turns around quick to cinch up his tall stocking. It's the one that means, the land of the tall pines, but it's probably saying, that which lies at the end. What's that word again? Because I for one, I like that word a lot. It seems grounded. It sounds so Canadian. It's like its in a time and place that's all alone. Too much galavantism and people start going off the rails. We weren't meant to move around so much. No dance in the pants, No jive, no bulhsit neither. Just so you know, I'm going home after this and it's just going to be me and Mr Kosmonaut tonight. So don't try anything.
At the end of the hall we see the inappropriately named, Ms. Tabby Tabby Tabby on her way to June's. She slips under the bed in the old box room. Her ass wiggles under the dangling flat sheet. The night ends when she says, isn't that right darling?

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